


La Petite Mort

by DaIncredibleGG



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sex, Blood and Gore, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, I think that's everything..., PWSD (Post Walker-pocalypse Stress Disorder), Romance, did this one just for fun tbh, kinda Slow Burn but not really, you know... the usual suspects
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaIncredibleGG/pseuds/DaIncredibleGG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I should have looked back. I should have stabbed that son of a bitch in the head, grabbed him, found his kids and then bolted. But I didn’t, did I? Numero uno, that was the game. But right then in the middle of that road I was beginning to wonder if that was the right angle to have in all of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Heavy Burden

My heart was beating with rigorous thuds, and my legs couldn’t keep up with the pace of it. I thought I saw the hill stretch out in front of me, but it wasn’t real and my legs worked robotically to keep me going no matter what my head told me I was seeing or thinking. I hit the tree line and I stumbled, some branch in my way. My hands went in front of me and broke my fall only to realize that I had run into a tattered mess of a blue plaid shirt with some grizzly teeth ready to eat my flesh alive. My head snapped back as it snapped its teeth at me, and soon jammed the knife at my hip in its weathered head before groping the ground to get back on my feet. But in that moment when I stabbed through its skull, and my footfalls didn’t consume my ears, I heard the sound of a crackling burning, and the labored screams of whoever was left.

A part of me wanted to look back. I could’ve. The shufflers were drawn to the heat of the fires, figure it was a better meal ticket than little old me. But I wouldn’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep going like I needed too. So that’s exactly what I did.

I slipped into the wilderness like a drop of water into a lake. The trees leaned and groaned, greeting me back as I strode in, the bag at my side hitting my leg as my feet guided me farther and farther away. The leaves made the sunlight green above me as I walked and my eyes followed that bright light as it sank down toward the horizon. It was nearing dusk when the woods became a road, and naturally I followed it until I found adequate shelter for the night. A small shack next to a burned down house looked like it would do just fine. And only three shufflers outside to boot! Must have been my lucky day.

The first one took notice of me so I unsheathed my knife and grabbed its throat as it lunged for me. Nearly tore out its windpipe in the process of stabbing it in the ear, but it fell, like they all do. The second and third heard the body fall and came for me. I grabbed the closer one by the hair and my knife made it’s way up through its jaw. The third nearly got me by the elbow but I knocked it back in time. When it swung itself upright and forward I just held my knife and it fell right on it between the eyes.

The shack had no line of defense. Not even a lock (by the looks of it, it had been kicked in at some point). Luckily it turned out to be a tool shed, and with a couple of rusty nails and a piece of the work bench I managed to bolt it shut. The remaining cleared workbench served as my bed for the night.

My back hit the wood, and my bag, filled with antiseptics, water, gauze and power-bars served as my pillow. There were a few groans outside, but they couldn’t smell me in here… probably.

I should have known what would come next, as my heart began to slow and the night settled in. After all that had happened, I was alone with my thoughts at last. That was the most dangerous thing. Not the shufflers outside that might come to my door, or whoever else was left in this world. What my thoughts would turn to in the middle of the night, the memories I would dig up. I would hate every minute of it.

But it would happen. I could go through a whole herd just to get some melatonin in my veins. But that was a luxury that I could not afford now. So I turned on my side. I let them come.

_At first I remembered the man with the knife. The blood. The silence. Why did it have to be silence? I’d take anything over it. But there it was, blaring and unyielding. I sank the blade of my axe. I slashed, and cut and hit and I couldn’t stop..._

_“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy.”_

It shifted. I was back in the woods, with a tall man in my sights. Staring down the barrel of a very shiny Colt Python.

_“Why should I?”_

_He held up his hands and slowly leaned down to the ground placing his revolver on the dead leaves._

_“Because we have a camp, not far from here.”_

_I kept him in my sights, but lifted my finger off the trigger._

It didn’t make sense. Why this one? I’d never thought about it before let alone at night. But it took over quick, and I was a slave to see it through.

_“I can take you back with me. We have people there. Food, clean water, a roof over your head.”_

_“And how am I supposed to believe you?”_

_“Well, by the looks of things, you’re not much better off out here. So you’re just gonna have to lower your weapon and trust me.”_

_There was something in his sterling blue eyes. Some glint of hope. It terrified me. So my gun fell to my side._

_He frisked me. That was smart. But he let me keep all of my gear, even my gun and my axe and down to my knife. Also smart. Not letting me think that I was just gonna walk in unarmed and blind, letting me have a safety net._

_“So that’s it?”_

_“Not quite.”_

_We stopped walking for a beat._

_“I have some questions to ask you.”_

_“What like 20 questions? Really? Nice guy like you had me figuring you’d have the decency to buy me dinner first.”_

_He chuckled at that._

_“No. Nothin’ like that. Just three questions.”_

_“Well all right, shoot.”_

_He stopped dead and turned to face me. I mimicked him and waited._

_“How many walkers have you killed?”_

_“Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I haven’t been keeping track.”_

_“How many people have you killed?”_

_I hesitated. I probably shouldn’t have. I remembered the man with the knife._

_“One.”_

_“Why?”_

_This was the question that mattered to him. I knew that. I straightened my spine._

_“He tried to kill me. Kill people I loved. So I killed him first.”_

_A moment passed and he gave a satisfied nod._

_“I can understand that.”_

_He held out his hand to me._

_"The name’s Rick Grimes.”_

_I readjusted my shoulder bag and shook it._

_“Tess. Tess Callaghan.”_

Those few words echoed in my mind as I finally fell asleep despite my shallow feeling in my chest and the wet stinging my cheeks.


	2. Blood of My Blood

Woke up to the dead knocking at my door. Their hungry grunts and groans filled with that sickly gurgling filled my delighted and refreshed ears. Too bad I’d have to thank their wake-up call with a knife in the brain, but that was just the way of things.

Rubbing my face, I sifted through my bag and quietly ate one bar, separating bites with sips of water. I had about 19 left. I’d have to find a place where I could sneak in and out with a sizable portion of rations for myself soon. But that wasn’t today. Today was moving day. I hopped down from the work counter and dusted my hands.

“All right, let’s see what we’ve got.”

I could see through a small crack in the door. Shuffler was looking straight at me. Couldn’t be more than a few out there. I pulled the nails out with a flathead and used it to jab the first one through the eye and into its brain. My axe did all the rest of the work, slashing my way through the little group that accumulated over night. When they were all done, I sheathed it again and readjusted the bag on my shoulder.

The road didn’t seem to end. Almost felt like singing to pass the day, but I knew the shufflers would come running if I did. My blank mind soon found itself drifting. Could he have survived? It was anyone’s guess. I’d tried to help him best I could. I really did. But that one-eyed maniac just wouldn’t quit. And those kids of his, those poor kids.

My footfalls drew on more slowly until they stopped completely. I should have looked back. I should have stabbed that son of a bitch in the head, grabbed him, found his kids and then bolted. But I didn’t, did I? Numero uno, that was the game. But right then in the middle of that road I was beginning to wonder if that was the right angle to have in all of this. That’s why I didn’t notice the shuffler until it practically groaned in my ear.

I cried as I stabbed it. I didn’t know this one, but unless someone shot him or by some goddamn miracle he lived through that beat down, he was like this now. And one of these days he’d be the one sneaking up behind me, going in for the kill. I wasn’t looking forward to that, in fact I didn’t want that. I wanted just the opposite.

There it was. Out in the open air. I screamed and punched my tomahawk through the dead shuffler’s skull again and again. The blood came up and hit me cool and rotting in the face but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t care. I wanted it on me thinking it would act like holy water. It felt good, it felt right, even. But when I finally stopped, I didn’t feel any better. My elbows found themselves on my knees, and my face ended up in my hands.

“What have I done?”

My breath came in heavy pants, and I felt the heat of the droplets on my jeans. I stayed there like that for a good long while. Blood on my face and clothes kept the shufflers away, of which there were few. I might as well have been one of them. I was practically suffocating.

_“So what is it that you did before?” he asked, pinching a branch of a tomato plant and tearing it off, tossing it into a pile._

_“You’ll never guess.”_

_“Mmm… Doctor?”_

_“Yes, actually. But not the kind you’re thinking of.”_

_“Veterinarian?”_

_“Like Hershel? Doctor was a closer guess.”_

_“All right…” he smiled._

_“Lawyer?”_

_“Nope. English professor.”_

_He looked at me quizzically._

_“Really?”_

_“My students used to call me Doctor Callaghan. I know, what a let down, right?”_

_“Not exactly, but I couldn’t have guessed that.”_

_“What, from my exceptional nursing skills?”_

_Our breaths let us laugh a little, but not much. The shufflers at the fence were looking particularly hungry, and while I felt better to laugh in the face of death I didn’t want to tempt it either._

_“No, my husband was the real doctor.”_

_He wasn’t looking at the plants anymore. I had to._

_“Always gave me shit for it. He had this joke he’d tell his students. He’d say ‘my wife’s a doctor too, but she doesn’t dissect people, she dissects poems’. That’s really all that job was at the end of the day, now that I think about it.”_

_We continued on in silence. I had nothing more to say. He knew how this story ended, just like I knew who the crosses in the yard were for. Better not dig up those graves for his sake and mine._

_“I wanted to ask if you’d join the council.”_

_I stopped picking._

_“I already talked with the rest of them and they all agreed.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I think you'd be good for it. I already talked with the rest of them and they agreed. We find people alone out there like you were, it’d be good for them to know that someone who’s been through what they have has some say in what goes on in here.”_

_“How very political of you.”_

_I scoffed and kept picking._

_“It's true. And people here respect you, especially after what you did for Hershel."_

_"It was just a makeshift prosthetic, Rick. And a botchy makeshift at that."_

_"You got him on his feet and off his crutches for good, and that gives him a much better chance than he had before. Even if it was made from a manikin leg, a plastic bowl, a couple of belts and an old towel."_

_"Thanks for reminding me."_

_"I'm serious, Tess."_

_I didn't believe that. No more than a second later, I felt warm earth seep into the skin of my shoulder, a light pressure there. I searched his face for a sign. One shred of a charade. A hint of a doubt. One ounce of mistrust. And I found none._

_"Your opinion matters here. **You** matter.”_

_I sighed and the corners of my lips upturned._

_“Do I get life insurance and a dental plan?”_

_He returned a smile._

_“In a sense.”_

_I nodded._

_“Then I’d be glad to.”_

I hit my head with the handle of my knife and the moment passed.  
  
“Come on, Tess.” The words slipped from my lips in futility. “Come on, there’s no time for this shit.”

My heart drenched itself in those words, and my breath slowed. 

I looked up and not a single shuffler to be seen. The high noonday sun glinted on the muck in the road. I got back on my feet and staggered on, noting a few vague imprints in the mud heading the same way.


	3. Intervention

I arrived in the run-down southern suburbia long after the sun had set. I hadn’t seen many shufflers, and I had so much blood on my face and clothes they wouldn't have bothered me anyway. Smell of it didn’t bother me either.

The light of the moon guided me to a white house with a wrap-around porch and the promise of shelter and maybe a can of beans. I stepped in, axe out, over my head and at the ready. The door had already been broken into once and opened with minor effort. Shut it behind me. Couldn’t risk more shufflers. The windows were blocked by dark blankets. No light. Not a single shuffle or gargle either. A couch was propped up against the door in the living room. Whoever was here last was desperate for shelter no matter how little it was. Heaven help them if they were still here, alive or dead.

I held onto the railing as I climbed up to the second floor. The floorboards gave a small squeak under me. I paused. A resounding rustle went through the staircase to my ears. Not slow and creeping but fast and scattering. Probably a spooked rodent, or some bird of prey catching itself a meal.

The bedroom right in front of me was first. My hand glazed over the moulding as I crossed the threshold. Some streaks of moonlight shone through the windows and lit up the indigo blue walls. There were some video games on the floor, a guitar on the shelf, books on the bed, posters coating the walls and dvd cases scattered across the room. It seemed like it hadn't so much as been touched since this whole thing started.

I had this. Only  _one day_  ago. I had a small cell, clad in a beautiful mess of books and tempura painted walls with an old bed sheet as my only door. I was going to go on a run with him, find a Rita Hayworth poster and see if anyone else would be in on the joke. They even had that book in the library there. The library that we'd found together.

It was probably like this now. Still burning, maybe. How quickly it had changed. First, a roaring pinnacle, symbolizing a new age, next a funeral pyre within a tomb. And now it was just like this, a mere echo of what once was. And he was there, too. As time passed his flesh would mould with the very ground that we tilled and it is where he'd remain, clawing in desperation for flesh. It wasn’t him anymore either. Just a shell. Just like this room. A testament... no, a  _gospel_ , written in blood and dirt and fire, humanity's greatest failure.

_“It’s not up to me! There’s a council now! They run this place!”_

_He looked like some kind of martyr, barking off like that._

_The other man was on a tank. He was tall, dark hair. And an eye patch? Little too old to be playing fucking pirate…_

_They pulled out two of their people. The kindly old man and the last samurai. They were forced to kneel. I could hear the younger blonde girl whimper behind me. The message was clear and simple: "your move"._

_He looked to the man with the crossbow first. He nodded. He patted his son on the shoulder as the hat tilted down to his brown hiking shoes then up again._

_Then he turned to me._

_There it was again. That little spark inside that blue. He wasn’t… yeah. He was going to go down there. There was something that was unsettling in the way that he waited for me to approve. But I didn't approve. That wasn't the answer. Whoever this asshole with a fucking armored vehicle was, he wanted nothing but blood. Seeking shelter was just a charade. He wouldn’t leave until he was the last man standing._

_Just like the man with the knife._

_I could have told Rick. I could have learned something in that gaze. I could have found something I thought I’d lost for good. I could have come clean. I could have come back._

_But did I?_

_I nodded my head._

_His hand went for my shoulder, and I thought I’d feel the familiar grip of his hand. I did, at the base of my neck. It lingered there one too many seconds as I let him push aside the chain link._

_The man with the crossbow told me to make sure the others knew to get on the bus if my instinct didn’t fail me. I would. But no one said that I had to be on it too. How I felt about them, how I felt about Ri-… how I felt about them didn’t matter. Not anymore. Numero uno. That was the game._

_I slipped away to my cell. My bag lay underneath, as it had for the past several months, waiting patiently for this exact moment to arise._

_That's when I heard the first shots. There wasn’t even a build to it. Silence and then bullets whizzing everywhere. I unsheathed the blade of my axe.  It was time to go._

_D block is where I slipped away. The shufflers would be drawn to the gunfire. I ran hard and fast, so much so that the walkers that I did run into didn’t even get a chance to chomp their bits at me. Finally I arrived at the first fence._ _With a couple of quick slashes of my axe, I cut through, and all there was left between me and freedom was the front yard._

_I ran. My feet carried me fast over the grass. I tried not to look back. I didn't need to. I could still hear the fires burning, the heat still left of my skin. Bullets were flying with abandon, men and women barking orders to one another trying to act like this was more civilized than manslaughter. And the moment I forgot to remind myself not to, my head of it's own accord turned._   _And there, a few feet next to the prison bus was the man with the eye-patch. He was on top of him, throwing down his fist into a bloodied mess on the ground._

_I turned back after that. It was too late for him. For all of them. That didn't stop something deep inside me from lurching up into my throat. But there was nothing I could do._

_At the last fence I stepped out and I didn't stop running, not even when m_ _y heart was beating with rigorous thuds, and my legs couldn’t keep up with the pace of it._

“I’m sorry, Rick.” I found myself wailing, sobs leaving my chest without any sense checking them.

“I’m so sorry. I should have done something. I shouldn’t have left.”

My anguish was met with a shuffle. A creak in the stairs sounded. My heart leaped, and I aimed for my knife, but soon found my hand slipping to my side-arm.

It was the first time I had ever thought about it. I took it from my jeans and held it. I ran my thumb over the trigger. I had four, maybe five bullets left. Nobody would miss one of them. Not even me. It’d be so easy. It’d be quick. Rick wouldn’t have thought about this. He wouldn’t have. He was all tooth and nail, right up until lungs filled with blood and his eyes couldn’t open.

But Rick was gone. They were  _all_  gone. And what was I to do? Traverse the endless wild hoping that I’d find another group only to watch it deteriorate and wither away until we were no better than the shufflers themselves? That fight wasn’t in me. Not any more. It died with him. Maybe we could argue about who was right in the great beyond.

The round hole was cool and soothing against my temple. It ground against my hair, whispering. It promised no more pain, no more heartbreak, no more thought. Just peace.

And I believed it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tess?”

My breath hitched, and my arm dropped with the weight of the gun.

A bright-eyed boy stood gun fixed at me ready to shoot. My stomach twisted.

“Carl?”

He uncocked and lowered his gun, switching on the safety. Fresh tears stained his cheeks and more threatened to come. I’d be lying if I said that the same couldn’t be said for myself.

“Oh my god.”

I staggered over, wiping away the old salt from my cheeks and gripped him tightly to me.

“You’re alive. You made it out alive.”

I let go of him and gripped his shoulder.

“Yeah, we did.”

“We?”

“Dad’s downstairs.” I couldn’t restrain my brief smile.

“But he’s not doing so good. He’s been out for more than a day. Maybe you could take a look at him?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, of course.”

We crawled down the stairs. He led me into the living room that I was so certain had been abandoned.

He was on the couch propped up against the door. One hand over his chest, the other and his leg halfway off the couch. He’d probably fallen off and Carl couldn’t lift his full weight back on. Half of his right eye drooped. His face was mostly red, bruised, cut, covered in coagulated, scabbing blood. His shirt was practically threads, and the evening light hitting his bare skin revealed a blotch of purple covering his upper torso.

“Looks like he’s got a couple of bruised ribs…” my eyes trailed down. There was a bullet hole and a piece of cloth wrapped around his thigh. I felt the underside. Just a through-and-through, thank god, and no bleeding.

“But he took care of that leg wound well enough. I’ll probably have to clean it and some of his cuts but that can wait ‘till morning. He needs the rest more than anything right now.”

Carl let out an uneasy breath.

“Hey,” I whispered gently. He looked back to me

“He’s gonna be okay, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded.

“I’ll take the chair, if you want to sleep on the cushions.” He offered, “You don’t look so good yourself.”

I un-shouldered my bag and slumped down into the soft armchair, propping my axe up in front of it and curling my legs up to my chest.

“No, I’m fine here. You need it way more than I do.”

He resigned to my wishes and went over to his scrounged up mattress in the other corner of the room, and whispered his goodnights which I returned.

I continued watching that sliver of moonlight hit his strong, peacefully sleeping face, highlighting the rise and fall of his chest. And to think, I was about put a bullet in my own brain. He’d probably tell me that divine intervention had something to do with that. Just because I’d believe him this time doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t debate with him about it eventually.

And that was something I was looking forward to.


	4. Perspective

I woke up in the small hours just before the sun rose. The light on his face changing from the pale blue of night into dawn. Shallow though it was, Rick was still breathing. I kept on watching him like that, curled up on the couch, the dim morning light inching closer to his still working eye. When it finally fell on him, he began to shift. I couldn’t bring myself to move. He let out a gruff breath and ran a hand over his face as he opened his eyes. Not missing a single beat, he noticed my unfamiliar presence in the room, and was making for his Colt before realizing that it was gone, and that I was no threat to him. And his face changed, looking surprised, and... relieved. 

“Tess?”

It was lower, grating, a little strained, perfect.

“Morning, sunshine.” My lips curved. He tried to push his weight forward to sit up but his ribs checked him and made him groan.

“No, don’t. Just relax.”

He sank back onto the cushions. The bright blue fell on his still sleeping boy, and then right back on me.

“You made it out? How’d you find us?”

“I didn’t. Carl found _me_ , actually. Y’know, I gotta say, he’s a pretty amazing kid.”

“He is.”

I stood up with one hand and plopped back down on the edge of the couch. The sunlight let me survey his face a bit better. The swelling had gone down a lot since last night. That or the moonlight had me fooled. I pushed a strand of his curly, sweaty hair back to take a look at another scar that was beginning to form. I knew the bright blue was fixed on me. I didn’t mind.

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

My eyes rolled instinctively.

“Well, you look about as good as anybody who’s recently been beat up by a pirate, but you’ll live. Ribs are bruised, but they’re healing right from what I can see. I do wanna get some peroxide on that leg, though.”

“Fair enough.”

We let Carl rustling in his sheets distract us if only for a second. I bit the inside of my lip. I still hadn't answered his first question. I considered lying. Make up some brave excuse. Something along the lines of 'I fought tooth and nail 'till I couldn't and had to retreat'. Maybe it was the groggy air of the morning that dissuaded me. Maybe it was something else.  

“I left.” I admitted. Silence.

“I heard the first shots, went through D block. It was stupid, cowardly. I shouldn’t have. If you want me to go I’d understand.”

The brush of fingers against mine snapped my eyes left.  

“Do _you_ want to go?” The bright blue pleaded. My fingers twitched against his.

“No.”

“Then _stay_.”

I dared not look at him. I wouldn't be able to stop myself if I did. I covered his hand before standing and picking up an empty canvas bag by the kitchen archway.

“I’m gonna go on a run real quick.”

“Didn’t we just agree that you were staying?”

“Does that mean you don’t want me to get you some ibuprofen?”

He smiled and nodded.

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

My axe sang as I lifted if from the floor. Headed for the back door where I came in earlier that evening in order to draw less attention. Shufflers probably multiplied over night.

"Hey," he whispered and I turned.

“Be safe.”  

I felt the corners of my lips upturn.

“When have I not?"

* * *

 

A can of pudding pointed me towards my destination. A similar house, white, wrap-around porch, door already open. Cabinets in the kitchen were already cleared, no medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom. Thudding drifted down the hallway, but never left its place from right above me. Shuffler was probably trapped upstairs.

Sure enough, first door at the top of the stairs shook and rattled with each knock. A message in uneven chalky print clued me in.

**“Walker inside. Got my shoe, didn’t get me.”**

I opened the door. It growled and lunged. The neck was the easiest target, so I went for it. The body went limp as the axe blade sunk in, sputtering around flecks of cold, wet, brown blood. The head still snapped as it rolled over towards the staircase. Another quick swipe and the bald head was cloven, the house finally at peace. I picked up small, brown hiking boot among the books littering the floor. Looked like a dog (or walker in this case) had made it its chew toy, but it was still intact. Could've been Carl’s size, and wasn’t his left foot bare last night? I couldn’t remember. If it wasn’t his we could just toss it later.

I went for the nightstand near the jarred window at the far end of the room. The contents were all jumbled. Walker must have bumped into it a few times. Lo and behold, the bottle rattled against the force of the drawer. I bagged it, and the shoe, and began for the door again.

My foot kicked a book and it went skidding across the room, shoving other ones in its way until it came to a full stop. The lettering glinted on the cover as it went past in the morning light. I followed its trail to the corner where it had stopped and picked it up, brushing it of the dust.

 _He spoke in silent gestures. Four shufflers up ahead. No match for us of course, but the alert was appreciated. He gripped his knife and the handle of the tomahawk twisted under my thumb. He went first. What a gentleman_  

_Not a sound. A squelching from blood and brain and then the fall. I could handle the second. Caught it between the wide head and the wall. I pulled back. He’d killed the third but the fourth was coming and he hadn’t gotten his knife out yet. One more righteous jerk and it was free. He probably wasn’t expecting to see my axe quarter-tilt right in its forehead. The bright blue fell on me at the follow-through. We heard the thud. His adam’s apple bobbed._

_“Thanks”_

_“Hey, what are friends for?”_

_The hall still gurgled, mixing with worn soles scuffing on concrete. Sounded like more than we could handle. Guess we were being a little too loud for them. The door to my right was just begging to be hidden behind as we rested before the fray inevitably came back to us. I tilted my head toward it and he agreed, grabbing the handle of my axe and pulling it out with a swift tug followed in behind me._

_The scent hit me first. Worn pages, grime, and that hint of death that seemed to seep into everything. We blocked the door with a temporary chair and allowed ourselves the well-earned catching of our breaths._

_It was small. Looked like it had been well kept and stocked before. Not even a laminate wrap out of place. Then again this probably wouldn’t be the most efficient place to hold up when the dead came knocking. Still, it was a treasure, a forgotten heirloom tucked away where you wouldn't think to find it, and I treated it like anyone would when finding such a rare, unmarred gem._

_"So this is what my taxes were going to."_

_I ran my fingers over the bindings, leaving a trail free of dust behind them. He followed, footsteps gently chanting behind me._  
  
_Then I saw it. A chuckle and a quick shake of my head, and I pulled it off the shelf._

_"What is it?" he asked, a hint of a smile in his voice._

_I showed him the cover over my shoulder._

_"Irony."_

_That's when I heard it. Not quite a breath, not quite a laugh. A gigglish presence, barely there, as though resurrected along with the bodies that walked in the halls outside. But it was still there, and I'll never forget that sound._

_"Wow." I sighed, "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you laugh."_

_"Yeah, well... don't go around telling everyone. I have a reputation to uphold."_

_I smiled back._

_"Don't worry."_

_The book flopped back down heavily into my left hand. The dead finally got to the door and started knocking. No doubt the rest of our team would be here soon to clear them out a bit._

_"It feels so... **weird**." I blurted. And it did. It felt so foreign. The weight of it. I was used to the weight of my axe. The weight as I swung it in the way I needed it. But this was... alien, now._  
  
_"I- I never thought I'd be saying that."_

_"Not much time for reading anymore." he reasoned, "For anyone."_

_I nodded._

_"No. There isn't."_

_Finally, I parted the sea of books, sliding the paperback in between._

_"Where were you?" he asked. I turned._

_"When it started." he clarified._

_I remembered the ballroom. The music was loud. Twangy, songs I'd never listen to on my own and most I'd never heard. But it was alive. It was what an event like it should be. And there I sat alone at my table, ever the cynic, drowning myself in free champagne as life skipped and jumped, laughing around me. Just like always._

_I smiled, half-heartedly, looking back to the bright blue._

_"I was at a wedding."_

_His shoulders slacked, waiting for the story to continue.._

_"Friend of mine had a sister who was getting married in Louisiana. She didn't want to go all the way down to 'the backwoods' alone. So I agreed to be her 'plus one'. Just my luck, world goes to hell and I get to go through it with total strangers."_

_"You were in a group?"_

_I nodded._

_"Yeah. For a while."_

_"Are they-"_

_"Dead." I interrupted. His face became grave, as he formulated consoling words._

_"I'm so sorry. Losing your people, that can't have been easy."_

_I shrugged._

_"I didn't know them very long. And some of them..."_

_I remembered the man with the knife._

_"Some of them, I didn't really know."_

_"Still," he said, shifting his weight a little closer "our group here, it's as good as family. Loosing any one of them, whether they're blood, or not..."_

_His voice broke a little, and he looked at the ground to re-gain himself._

_"It's hard."_

_"Yeah," I agreed,_ _"it is."_

_My voice suddenly felt cold, remembering the silence._

_"But there's no time for sentiment. Not in this world. My tears aren't going to make them forget about wanting to eat me."_

_"All I'm saying is-"_

_"I know," I nodded, "and thank you. But that's in the past. There's no going back."_

_"I don't believe that." he stated flatly._

_"It's not a matter of believing." I replied in turn, my own gaze drifting to the floor. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder._

_"You found us."_

_It lingered there and I couldn't divert myself from the bright blue any longer. They gleamed with hope. A fools hope, but it bore into me. I couldn't ignore it._

_"You found **this** family. And now, you're one of **us**. That sounds an awful lot like coming back to me."_

_The door slammed open._

_"Hey, Bonnie and Clyde!"_

__The bright blue snapped away just as mine did._ Our saviors had finally arrived. The kid with the swat gear took out another one of the shufflers crowding the hall, and aiding him was his wife, as well as the tall dark and handsome guy with a Hammer and the one wielding the katana. The archer was holding the door open. He looked like a kid catching his parents making out, rolling his eyes and(maybe not quite) about to puke.   _

_"We could use a little help."_

_He joined the others, giving the door another little kick to keep it open. I couldn't help but notice Rick's face had reddened a few shades._

_"Duty calls."_

_And then there was only one color left in all the world..._  

 

Red. And it was quiet.

The man with knife was quiet. They were all quiet. I didn't want to know why. But I did. So I ended the silence. It ended in a gush an a gurgle and a grip and it was loud. Enough to draw shufflers. But did I really end it? It was his fault after all. 

He was the reason for the red and the silence. Nothing left but red and bones and silence. It was his fault. He did it. I didn't-

My tears fell on the cover. I couldn't move. But I needed to move. I would be no use if I couldn't move. So I came back. Piece by piece. The first step was to breathe. 

I inhaled.

_"You can't lie forever, Tess."_

I exhaled.

_"I never lied to him."_

I opened my eyes.

_"You keep telling yourself that."_

The binding was so frail in the crook of my palm. I could've left it. I probably should've left it. But I wanted to leave that place more. So I bagged the book, and left the room, picking up a bit of unused chalk on my way out and answered the message on the door. 

**"Got the shoe. Returning to owner."**


End file.
